The Other Side Of Paradise. Laurie Paige

big if she was thinking of making the international circuit, or maybe even the Olympic Games.

      He finished reading the info. On the next-of-kin line she’d written “None.”

      His glance flicked back to the address line. The name of the place was familiar, but from what? Ah, yes. He’d received mailings from there asking for donations for a children’s ranch run by some church group a couple of times this past year. An orphan. That’s why she had no kin.

      An unusual emotion shot through him. It took a minute to recognize it as pity. The loneliness implied by having no relatives pinged through him. He thought of all the real and honorary aunts, uncles and cousins he had on the Indian side of his family, of the noisy Irish clan on the paternal side.

      It must be tough to be cut off from your relatives, to have no one at all.

      He broke off the pitying thought. Other than her working skills and references, her life wasn’t his business.

      He’d checked out their animals last night and found them well tended. Okay, so she was experienced as a wrangler. He’d also noticed her horse in a makeshift stall and saw that it had one leg wrapped in elastic bandage. The big stallion had limped when it came over to sniff him.

      That explained why she wasn’t competing now.

      Glancing out the window at her rig, he wondered if she’d pinned all her hopes on the dun-colored jumper.

      He could identify with that. He and Keith had sunk all they had into making this old ranch that had belonged to Keith’s grandfather into a profitable business once more.

      They were actually managing to do that, but only by running an RV camp in the summer and a hunting lodge in the fall and early winter. They also held business retreats and paramilitary games to teach strategy, team-work and thinking outside the box. He had a reputation as an expert in that department, one that he’d cultivated for business purposes.

      With an MBA from Wharton, he’d worked for ten years as an ad executive in New York. During that time, he’d also written a bestselling book on business techniques. When he’d reached the point that he couldn’t stand making up another slogan or jingle for a thirty-second sound bite, he’d returned to his roots for a vacation and ended up buying into the ranch with Keith and staying, much to his mother’s delight.

      He punched the new wrangler’s info into the computer and added her to the payroll. He sent an e-mail to their insurance agent to include her on the business account for health as well as workmen’s comp.

      Keith would question the latter decision, but Jonah figured she couldn’t afford it on her own. If she could handle the stock and help at the lodge, they would have to give her a raise, too. That was only fair.

      Hearing noise outside, he filed the employment forms and headed for the back. He lifted his head and sniffed the air as he strode along the corridor. A delicious aroma came from the kitchen.

      There he found coffee already brewed in the big urn. Fresh muffins were piled in a towel-lined basket. After filling a cup, he grabbed a muffin and bit into the heavenly taste of nuts and blueberries.

      Ignoring the chill of early morning in the mountains, he went out on the porch with the food. He saw the trail horses and pack mules were in the correct pasture. The big dun was with them.

      He went inside for another muffin and returned to the porch. The hired help was walking up the path.

      “Good morning,” he said.

      Her head jerked up in surprise. Or maybe alarm. It was difficult to tell. As she had yesterday, she wore glasses that went from a light tint to dark gray according to the degree of light. Her hair was tucked under her hat.

      This morning she wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt over a blue T-shirt with jeans and boots. Her hands were in her pockets and leather gloves dangled from her waistband.

      “Hello,” she said, giving out the word cautiously, as if she didn’t trust him with more from her.

      “These muffins are great,” he said. “You must have been up at first light.”

      She shrugged, checked that her boots were clean and came up the steps to the porch. “I was awake.”

      He wondered if she’d slept. Not that it was any of his business. “By the way, the mules like to bunk together, so you can put your stallion in the stable.”

      Pausing on the top step, she considered the words as if for a hidden mine, then nodded. “Thanks.” She went inside.

      In the kitchen, he finished off the second muffin, then observed while she poured milk and a mug of coffee before turning to him. “Okay if I have eggs for breakfast?”

      “Help yourself.”

      She removed two eggs, then glanced his way. “You want half an omelet?”

      “Sounds good.”

      Looking as serious as a surgeon, she retrieved two more eggs along with butter and cheese. Spotting the leftover ham he’d been using for sandwiches, she cut some of that and soon had the omelet in the skillet.

      “You’re efficient in the kitchen,” he commented, refilling his coffee mug.

      Her hesitation was long enough to be noticed. “I went through a work-study program my last year of school and was trained as a short-order cook.”

      “The orphanage made sure you had a skill before you were sent out on your own, huh?”

      She visibly started. “How did you—” She stopped abruptly.

      “I recognized the name of the town on the form,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “The church sent me a couple of brochures about the work at the children’s ranch. I have no idea how they got my name.”

      “They buy lists,” she said curtly. “Names and addresses. The students type them into a computer file for mailings.”

      She frowned as if chagrined that she’d disclosed this much, then cut the omelet into two parts and gave him the largest piece along with two slices of buttered toast. When she set her plate at the end of the counter, it was clear she intended to eat standing up.

      “Let’s go into the dining room while we have it to ourselves,” he suggested. “Our guests won’t get up for a couple of hours.”

      He led the way across the hall and took a seat by the window. She put her plate down and returned to the kitchen for her milk and coffee. Jonah removed a fork from a container such as those used for straws at soda fountains.

      “That’s a good idea,” she said, coming back to the table. She selected a fork for herself.

      “I thought it was more convenient to have the utensils, on the tables along with salt and pepper shakers, napkins and sugar bowls. People can serve themselves.” He took a bite of the omelet. “Mmm, this is good.”

      “Thanks.”

      They ate in silence. The former housekeeper and cook, a middle-aged widow, had talked way too much. This woman spoke very little. That fact intrigued him.

      “You don’t talk much,” he said.

      “I don’t have much to say.”

      Her smile held the right amount of casual humor to appear friendly, but it was deceiving, he decided. Nothing about her invited a deeper relationship to develop.

      The sun came up over the ridge that shaded the lodge long after the sky had brightened to blue. It fell across the table with sudden warmth and illuminated her face.

      Before the glasses could darken completely, he stared into her startled gaze. His breath caught in his throat. She had the bluest eyes with the longest, blackest eyelashes he’d ever seen.

      The blue irises turned the grayish hue of wood smoke as the light-sensitive lens darkened. She pushed the frame firmly against her nose as if to make sure her eyes were